


LightBringer

by Matchgirl42



Series: Follow Me Through This Darkness [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Devotional sex, I mean, I promise, M/M, Polytheism, Religion, Religious Sex, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic, a lot of canon is there, but it diverges rather quickly, it's an AU thread weaving it's way through canon, myth, not playing fast and loose with mythology, sort of, there is a connection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9153172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matchgirl42/pseuds/Matchgirl42
Summary: So a while back, lise (veliseraptor on tumblr) posted the idea of Steve/Loki devotional sex, and my mind went PING! PING PING!  And it's been percolating ever since.  So here it is, my Steve/Loki devotional sex story.   There are a few similarities, because a)where else is ritual sex going to take place except on an altar, and b)pre-serum Steve has asthma, of course it would flare up in this situation, and all-night sex obviously can't take place if Steve can't breathe, so it would need to be fixed.You might think I'm playing fast and loose with mythology here, but there are definite similarities between the Celtic Gods and the Norse Gods.  Here's just one article on it: http://www.historicalarts.co.uk/articles/sinsear/the_birth_of_lugh.html





	

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: Thank you everyone for your wonderful comments, they were a lovely surprise. :) I honestly wasn't thinking about anything beyond a one-shot, and now my brain is percolating away on a sequel. Can't promise when, but yeah, it's churning.
> 
> In the meantime, go show Lise some love, okay? It was her idea in the first place, I just ran with it. And she's got two stories of her own in this vein/trope that are LOVELY. https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
> 
> ETA THE SECOND: The sequel has been started, lovelies! http://archiveofourown.org/works/11299530/chapters/25281747

There was no doubt that Sarah Rogers was a devout Catholic.

As a young girl in Ireland, she had faithfully attended mass every Sunday, as well as several days a week besides; and she was sure that her embroidery work still graced the altar at St Aden's back in Fern County, Ireland.  She still attended church regularly here in America, and said her rosary every day, the beads clicking against each other in her fingers.

However, Sarah Rogers was also a child of the old country, and of the old ways.

So when her son - her precious bonnie boy who had never had a chance to know his father, who she had raised on a combination of the pittance given to her as a war widow and her earnings as a nurse, pinching pennies until they squeaked all the while – when her son lay dying, and all of her prayers to the Catholic God had garnered her naught but sore knees, it was to the old ways, and the old Gods, that Sarah Rogers turned.

With one hand on her son's burning brow, and the other on the piece of the Lia Fáil that the matriarch of her family had been given centuries ago and which had come with her all the way from Fern to Brooklyn, kneeling on her sore knees on the floor between them, she Called.

“Trickster God.  Warrior God.  God of light, god of wisdom, god of poetry.  Oathbreaker, bringer of the night stars.  Called Lugos, called Cian, called Gwydion, called Gilfaethwy.  Father and Mother, brother and sister, light-bearer to those who find themselves in dark times.  I, Sarah Rogers, daughter of the Brigantee, do call upon you.  Light-bringer, heed my call.”

Dust began to swirl on the other side of the room, and Sarah closed her eyes and bowed her head.   _ Lord, forgive me, but I do what I must. _

A melodic male voice spoke.  “It has been long since any have called upon me in such a way, daughter of Brigantia.  Your need must be great, indeed.”

“Yes, Light Bringer.  This need – that my son may live.”

She heard steps cross the room towards her, then fingers under her chin, lifting her head.  They burned a little, but not enough to hurt, but rather to warm.

“Look upon me, daughter of Brigantia.”

She opened her eyes and they teared a bit at the vision before her: a youth in his prime, dark hair flowing down to his shoulders, blue-green eyes staring into hers as if searching her very soul.  Surrounding him was a soft glow of green that shimmied and wavered in the candlelight.

“And what would you offer in return for such a boon?”

She licked lips that had long gone dry.  “This my offering, Light Bringer; the stone of my grandmothers, the piece of the  Lia Fáil given to my ancestor centuries ago for her service, passed down from mother to daughter, and that carries within it generations of spells and prayers of my people.”

He looked to the side for a moment, towards the stone, and she swore she could see his eyes grow even brighter.  He then looked towards her son, and bent down to lay a hand against his chest.  Her son murmured softly, but did not wake.  The Light Bringer closed his eyes for a few moments, and Sarah held her breath in return, hoping against hope...

The Light Bringer opened his eyes and stood back up.  “Even with your offering, the task is not lightly done, daughter of the Brigantia.  There is a further sacrifice required -”

“I know,” Sarah dared to interrupt.  “And I am willing.”

“You know the cost?

“Yes.”

“And you are willing to pay it?”

“I was willing to pay it from the moment I felt him move within me.”

“Sarah, daughter of the Brigantia, you are willing to exchange your fate for his, your life for his, knowing what you forfeit?  Knowing that from this day on, he will always carry my touch within him?”

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping from one corner.  “Yes. Anything, so that he may live.”

A soft touch on her cheek, gathering the tear.  “Very well, daughter of Brigantia.”

She felt the touch withdraw, then a moment later it was back, this time touching her forehead.  And then -

And then there was  _ light _ .  Inescapable, all around her, she was moving through it, it was caressing her skin, lifting her hair and playing with it, blinding her with it's brightness even though her eyes remained firmly shut.

_So it is done, daughter of Brigantia.  Your life for his, your fate for his.  By the old ways, and the new, by the old gods and the new, so shall it be._

And then the light was suddenly gone, as was the Light Bringer, and there was no longer a stone beneath her hand.  But underneath her other hand –  _ oh! _   Her son moved, and his eyes fluttered open.

“M-mother?  Mother, what's wrong?  You're crying.”

His voice already sounded stronger, more wind behind it, and Sarah felt herself crying again, this time in relief.

“Nothing, my darling.  Nothing.  It will be alright now.  It will all be alright.  Rest, Steven.  Rest.”

* * *

_Six years later_

Steve Rogers trudged up the stairs to the tenement that he and Bucky shared now.  Bucky was out with his new army buddies, them all having been drafted to serve in the new war that was chewing up Europe.  They had invited Steve along to the Stork Club, but he just didn't have the heart, not after having been rejected for the third time by the same army that was now going to be taking his best friend away from him, to a place he couldn't follow.  He couldn't stand to watch Bucky and his new buddies twirl with a different girl in their arms for every song, standing at the wall with jealousy burning him up from the inside.  Not this night.

Tonight, he was going to try something new.  Something different.

When he had been going through his mother's things after her death – precious little though they were – the small book, bound in some kind of strange leather, had surprised him.  He had never seen it before.  But what lay within it had  _ shocked _ him.

Story after story, written in what he could only call, from his Catholic upbringing, spells.  Stories of the old country, of the old Gods, stories of dire need, of sacrifice and change and -

He had thrown the book down and backed away from it to the other side of the room, as far away as he could get from it, and stared.  He had considered burning it, but it was his mother's book, and he -

His very soul had gone cold, and after an hour he had found the courage to approach the book again, to use a spare sock to pick it up and wrap it, and secret it under the loose floorboard near the stove.

And it had stayed hidden all this time, moving with him from his mother's apartment when he moved in with Bucky, once again being hidden beneath a loose floorboard.  No need had ever been great enough for him to even consider looking at it again, until now.

_I can't let him go without me.  I just can't.  We're supposed to be with each other 'till the end of the line.  He promised._

With a deep breath he locked the doors, pulled the curtains on the windows, and approached the arm chair which hid - underneath the floorboards it was perched on - the secret of his mother, the secret of his family.  He moved the floorboard and there it was, still wrapped in it's spare sock.  He pulled it out, blowing on it to clear the dust, then unwrapping it.

_Lord forgive me, but I do what I must._

He opened the pages, skimming through until his eyes found the spell that had stood out the most when he found it after his mother's death.  He licked lips that had suddenly gone dry, shifted his sore knees on the hard wooden floor, and began to read.

“Trickster God.  Warrior God.  God of light, god of wisdom, god of poetry.  Oathbreaker, bringer of the night stars.  Called Lugos, called Cian, called Gwydion, called Gilfaethwy.  Father and Mother, brother and sister, light-bearer to those who find themselves in dark times.  I, Steven Rogers, son of the Brigantee, do call upon you.  Light-bringer, heed my call.”

A movement out of the corner of his eye made him look up.  Dust was stirring in the armchair he was kneeling beside, swirling in the dim light, and he watched it with fascination.  And then it seemed to coalesce and glow, the light gaining intensity until it was too bright to look at.  He turned away and shut his eyes, wondering if he had just sold his soul to the Devil.  _Worth it, if it means not being left behind..._

The light faded and a voice spoke up from his right, from the armchair.

“Once again the family of Rogers calls upon me in the old ways.  And what great need is there now in the man whose life has already been saved by my hand?”

Steve opened his eyes.  A stranger was sitting resplendent in the arm chair, a young man in his prime, with dark hair flowing down to his shoulders, and blue-green eyes staring at him with a faint twinkle of amusement.  Surrounding him was a soft glow of green that shimmied and wavered in the dying sunlight.  Steve felt a faint stirring within his gut.  Fear, yes, a primal fear of the prey recognizing the predator.  But weaving through that fear, the same feeling he got when looking at pictures of Cary Grant and Gary Cooper, when he saw the dock workers stripped down to their pants, muscles shining under the sun, when he caught a glance of Bucky bathing....

His mind caught up to current events and he stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, and he could _feel_ the blush setting his skin on fire from the skin on his head down to his waist.  _This was real, this wasn't just something made up, oh GOD what have I done, what have I – and I – is it_ _ **appropriate**_ _to think of a god like that?_

The god – Lightbringer – cocked his head to the side, studying him.

“You certainly are not as forthright as your mother.  She knew what she wanted, and asked for it straightaway.”

“My – my _mother_?”  Steve managed to squeak.

“Yes.  We struck a deal, she and I.  For your life.  And what have you called upon me to ask, hmm?  You seem alive enough to me.”

It was at that moment that Steve's asthma decided to join the party.  His breath started wheezing in his chest, and the god's face became concerned.  He stood up and walked towards him, and there was no where for Steve to go, his back was already against the wall -

The god knelt down and placed his hand against Steve's chest.  He felt his lungs loosen, the tightness ease, and he took in a deep breath.

“There, that's better.  Now come mortal, ask of me what you called me here to ask of me.  I must warn you, I think very little of those who waste my time.”

With more oxygen reaching his brain, Steve was able to get his thoughts in order.

“I want – I want to join the army.  To go fight.”

The god rocked back on his heels and looked him over like a farrier looking over a horse.

“You do not seem the warrior type.”

Steve flushed hot, and his temper flared.

“Yeah, that's what everyone says.  Don't mean I have to stay home while my best friend puts his life on the line.”

“Ah.  You do not wish to get left behind.”

“No.  I don't.”

“Hmmmmmm.  I do know a little of what that is like.”  The god looked him up and down again, considering.

“Gifts such as mine do not come freely.  I already have your family's spell stone, what would you offer me in return for such a boon?”

Steve swallowed thickly, thinking back to the – _other_ stories in the book.  He took another deep breath.  _In for a penny..._ “I – I would offer myself.”

The god quirked an eyebrow, and his look became – leering.

“Well now.  And how would you offer yourself to me, hrmm?  My mark is already upon you.”

Steve looked down, the blush creeping back onto his skin but thankfully lighter this time.  “My ancestors have offered themselves before – a night with you, and a boon granted in return.  I – I know I'm not much to look at, but I -”

Fingers touched under his jaw, pulling his face up.  There was a look on the god's face he couldn't decipher.

“While you do not seem the warrior type, do not think for one moment, Steven Rogers, son of the Brigantia, that you do not have worth in my eyes.”

Steve sucked a breath into lungs gone tight again, not from asthma, but from a flash of _want_.  He could see the interest in the god's face, the desire, and it made something twist inside of him.  _No one_ had ever looked at him in that way before.  A picture formed in his head, of him and – the _god –_ locked in an embrace, flesh touching flesh, lips touching lips...the blush burned hotter on his skin as his blood began to flow southward to his johnson.

“However I must ask, if this is something you truly want.  I do not take the unwilling, and do not force myself that way on others, boon or no.  The question is, would you offer yourself to me if there was no boon to gain?”

Steve struggled to think, to form words.  And found he couldn't.  And so, in a rush of daring, he darted forward and pressed his lips to the god's.  They were soft and warm, moving against his own, and the feeling was as pleasant as his night-dreams had guessed it would be.

The god broke the kiss, leaning backwards and studying him.

“I need to hear you say it, mortal.”

Steve licked his lips.  “Yes,” he breathed.

The god grinned, the expression full of want and an almost predatory gleam.  “Well then, Steven Rogers, son of the Brigantia, we have an agreement.  Come.”

He stood up and extended his hand to Steve.  Steve looked at it for a moment, then up to the God.

“Do I still get the boon?  Will you help me get into the army, and not get left behind?”

The god smiled.  “A smart one, you are.  Yes, Steven Rogers, you shall have your boon.  Come.”

Steve took the god's hands, and then there was a flash of light and he couldn't _see_.  And then when he could see, they were somewhere – different.  The room was bigger, the ceiling higher, and there was a dais – no, a low altar, he corrected himself.  There were high windows on the walls, and through them he could see snow falling.  He shivered, letting go of the god's hand and wrapping his arms around himself.

“Where – where are we?”

“One of my temples.  Most of them don't exist anymore, but this one does.  Here, we will not be disturbed until morning, and we can enjoy each other in better surroundings.”

The god moved towards the altar and flicked his wrist; in between one second and the next, there were furs and cushions lining the top of what had before been a bare marble altar.

“Wait – we won't be disturbed until morning?”

“Did you think I was the kind to require only a few minutes of your time?  No, son of Brigantia, you are mine until sunrise.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

The god's mouth quirked.  “Very well, Steve.  Come to me.”

Steve walked towards the god and the altar, heart thumping between his ribs.  The god bent down and kissed him again, while hands wandered and undid his clothing.  He shivered and the god gestured in response, then Steve felt the room grow warm.  Now bare, the god grabbed him by the waist and lifted him onto the furs and cushions.  He made himself comfortable, and caught the god watching him.

“Beautiful,” the god murmured.

Steve blushed again.

“Aw, don't josh me.  I know I'm not anything to look at.”

The god gestured and his own clothing disappeared.  Steve sucked in a breath at the sight of him, the wiry muscles rippling with every movement, the curve of bone under the skin...the god was a masterpiece and Steve itched to draw him.  But then he was climbing up onto the altar, onto _Steve_ , hovering his body over Steve's own and looking him in the eyes.

“Steve. You are beautiful.  You may not believe it now, but come morning, I promise you shall.”

“It's just....no one has ever...”

“Not even your best friend?”

Steve made a huff.  “Bucky doesn't – he doesn't look at me like that.  In that way.  We love each other, but as brothers.  He's – he's definitely into broads.  Me, I'm – I don't know.  I like both, I think.  At least, a person's gender never seemed that important to me, for...that.  But I've never....you know.  I mean, men are supposed to like broads, so it's not like I can tell guys I like them without getting beat up or worse...and broads aren't exactly lining up for a man they can't kiss without bending over.”

“Then they are blind.  Blind and ignorant, not to see your beauty.”

Steve huffed and rolled his eyes.  “Okay, now you're gonna give a fella a complex.”

The god smiled, a smile full of utter mischief and delight.  “We shall see.”

And then they were kissing again. Steve felt the god's tongue against his lips and his eyes flew open, to see the god's eyes crinkled in amusement in front of his own.  He parted his lips and let the tongue in, where it began to gently explore.  The sensations...dove straight to his johnson.  He gasped.

He felt the god smile against his mouth, and then hands were on his skin, stroking, moving downwards.  He gasped again, lost in the sensations.  And then a hand was on his johnson, stroking it, and his hips came up of their own accord as he grunted into the god's mouth – and spilled over the god's hand.  The kiss broke, and the god pulled back slightly.

“Sorry,” Steve gasped, trying desperately to suck air into his lungs, still reeling from the first orgasm of his life that hadn't come at his own hand.

“Hrmmmmm,” the god murmured, and then his hand was on Steve's own, guiding it to the god's hard cock.  He took hold of it, spreading the slick still on the god's hand and using that to smooth the way.

The god sucked in a breath.  “Yes, that's it,” he choked out.

Steve felt a rush of accomplishment at that.  _That I could have that effect on a god_....it made him bolder, and this time it was he that initiated the kiss, his tongue that moved into the god's mouth to explore, his hand that moved firmly on the god's cock...

The god was kissing him back as if he could devour Steve right then and there, and then his lips were moving over his jaw, onto his neck...  Steve felt the lips clamp onto the skin above his jugular and begin to suck.  His hand clamped down in response on the hard flesh it held, bringing a soft whine from the god.  He let go immediately, and the god broke the suction on his neck with a pop.

“Do...do that again.”

Eyes wide, Steve took hold of the god's cock again, just below the head with his thumb resting against the bundle of nerves there, and squeezed again.  The god, back to sucking against his neck, made that choked sound again as his hips began to rut, his cock moving in Steve's hand.  He let up the pressure, and the god growled into his skin.

“No.  Keep squeezing.  Keep....”

Steve squeezed again and he felt the god shudder, and then he spilled over his hand and onto his stomach, joining the small puddle of his spend from before.  The god worked his hips a few more times, then collapsed to the side, looking down at him.

“Do you still doubt, mortal?”

Steve ducked his head, suddenly shy.  “A bit.”

“Hrmmmm.  Well, this night can't be all pleasure...there is business to attend to, as well.”

The god started licking Steve's spend off of his hand, which made something twist in Steve's gut.  When he was finished, he took Steve's hand and cleaned that as well, then bent down to dribble what he had collected onto the joined spend on his stomach.

The god winked at him.  “Stay still, and remember to breathe.”

The god stirred the cooling puddle, and Steve could feel it grow warm again on his skin.  Then he brought his fingers to Steve's forehead, and began to smear the come onto his skin.  Steve could feel it, the god was making some kind of pattern on his face, the warmth of the seed he was spreading seeping into the skin.  His cock twitched at the idea of it, he hadn't ever thought such a thing could be arousing, and yet...

He reached up to trace the patterns, to try to figure out what they were, but the god grabbed his hand, forcing it back against the furs with a low growl.

“I meant what I said.  Stay still.”

Steve's pulse leapt at that, at the force he could feel in the god's touch, barely restrained, just under the surface.  The god continued to make patterns over his face and then his neck for a few minutes, and Steve could barely breathe from the tension.

Then the god was done and leaned back, smiling down at him.

“What was...what did you do?”

“You still want your boon, yes?”

“Yes.  Of course.”

“Well then, this is one way to accomplish it.  Not the easiest by far, but definitely the most pleasurable.”

“I don't...”

“I am marking you, setting runes into your skin, using our combined essence.  You will glow with my touch, Steve, for those who have eyes to see it.  I have read your destiny, and you will cross paths with those who, under the right circumstances, might give you your chance to join the army and follow your friend.  This, what we do tonight, will ensure that those circumstances come to pass, that they see you, see your potential, and give you that chance.”

“Oh...I thought...”

“Hrmmmm.  Too much thinking, I should say.  We'll have to remedy that.”

And then the god's lips were on his chest, sucking against the skin, and Steve's torso bowed upwards, chasing the sensation.  The god pushed him down, again that sense of barely restrained force underneath the surface that set Steve's blood racing, a feeling he could sense down to his very toes.  It reminded him that the god wasn't quite...human.  A part of his mind worried at that, but the rest was busy enjoying the god's attentions.  _So this is what all the fuss is about_ , _why people are so obsessed with this,_ he thought.

And then the god's lips were against his nipples, first one and then the other, sucking and licking.  If it weren't for the god's hands holding him down, his torso would have come off the furs again.  When both nipples were hard peaks, the god's lips moved further south, towards the cock laying flush and weeping against his stomach.  The god looked up at him, mischief once again in his expression mixed with lust.  He winked, and then bent and took Steve's cock into his mouth, just the tip, and sucked.

Steve nearly passed out at the sensation; if it weren't for the furs and cushions beneath him, he surely would have given himself a concussion, such was the force of his head collapsing backwards.  The god broke the suction with an obscene pop, and then...

“I'm going to devour you.  Take everything you have to give.  When you leave here in the morning, Steve, you will be forever changed.”

Steve's hips began to make little rutting motions.  “Please...I...please -”

“You beg so prettily.  I want to hear you beg.  Don't stop.”

The god's lips were back around his cock, the sucking pressure alternating with the god's tongue licking at the bundle of nerves below the head, the god's hand gliding on the rest of his cock, and the sensations were almost _too_ much.  Steve could no longer hold back.  A litany fell from his lips.

“God!  God, please....don't....please...God...”

Lightbringer hummed against his flesh and that did it, brought him over the edge again, and he was spilling into the god's mouth.  The god worked him through it, then let him go and moved a little upwards.  He waited until Steve was looking at him again, then very deliberately dribbled the come onto the same place on his stomach to join the remnants of their joined spend from before.

“And now, mortal, I want you to take me in your mouth.  Show me how well you were paying attention.”

The god climbed upwards, avoiding the puddle of cooling come on his stomach, and moved so that he was kneeling on either side of Steve's head, his leaking cock hovering over his mouth.  Steve reached up with hesitant fingers and grasped it, held it still while he reached his tongue out to give it a lick.  It tasted salty, but not bad; and the god moaned and closed his eyes, which only encouraged him.  He pulled the cock into his mouth, mindful of his teeth, and ran his tongue over the ridge of nerves underneath the head.  The god's head fell back and his mouth fell open in a soundless oh, and then the god rolled his head forward to look at him.

“You are a smart one, indeed.  And how pretty you look around my cock, mortal.”

Encouraged, he began to suck, and the god began to make shallow rutting motions with his hips.  Once again he could feel the barely restrained strength behind the god's movements, and in a flash of understanding he _knew_ that the god had the power to thrust down his throat if he wanted and there was nothing Steve could do to prevent him.  But the god didn't, he kept his thrusts shallow, barely two inches of his cock in Steve's mouth at the deep end of his thrust.  Steve wrapped his other hand around the rest of the length and applied pressure, his saliva providing lubrication for it.  The god reached down and placed his hands on either side of Steve's head, his eyes closed and pleasure written all over his face.

“Yes, mortal, yesssss......”

Feeling daring, Steve flattened his tongue against the underside of the god's cock and began to undulate it in time to the god's thrusts.  This made the god suck in a breath and his thrusts became more urgent, but still controlled, always controlled.

“Steeeeeve.....do not...do not swallow.  Keep my seed...in your mouth....”

And then he was coming, the saltiness flooding over Steve's tongue, and he fought to follow the god's instructions, to not swallow.  A little dribbled out of the corners of his mouth, but he kept most of it in.  And then the god was backing down his body, and his mouth was there, his tongue moving into Steve's mouth, pulling his own spend from within.

When Steve's mouth was clean and all of the spend was within the god's mouth, he moved down again, and dribbled it onto Steve's stomach, mixing it with Steve's spend from before.  Again the stirring, and the warming sensation, and then the god was painting patterns with it again, this time on Steve's shoulders and arms.

“Are you...are you going to cover my whole body?”

The god smiled.

“That is one reason, mortal, that you are mine for the entire night.  The main reason being, I am not the type to be satisfied with just one coupling.”

“Oh!”  Steve thought about that for a moment, and then something deep inside him twinged.  “Oh.....”

The god smirked in response, and kept marking him.

They continued that way, the god giving Steve short breaks when he needed them, fetching snow from outside and melting it so that Steve could drink.  And all the while Steve came again and again, getting to the point that the pleasure almost hurt.  Almost.

And at last, when he was lying loose and pliant among the furs and cushions, and could feel the marks on the front of his body from his hair down to his toes, the god knelt between his legs and lifted them, pushing them up and to the side.  Steve flushed, to be so exposed, but he could see only lust in the god's eyes.

“Hold your legs open for me, Steve...”

He reached down and hooked a hand behind each knee, and the god sunk back onto his heels.

“Yes, very good.  Now breathe, Steve.  Concentrate on your breathing.”

The god moved back, lying down between his spread legs, and Steve couldn't take his eyes off the sight.  The god began to lick at his cock, and that felt good.  And then he moved lower to lave at his balls, and that felt so much better that his breath stopped for a second before he remembered the god's instructions and made himself breathe.  And then....

And then the god's tongue moved further down, and he was licking at Steve's most intimate of places, the taboo, the act that the Bible said would guarantee entrance into Hell.  _Perverse..._

Steve choked, his head thudding back against the furs and cushions.  Because this sin...this _perverseness,_ it felt... _good._

He felt the god's hand on his cock, moving gently up and down in time to the motion of the god's tongue against his hole, building waves of sensation that were quickly becoming bliss.  And then he felt the tip of the tongue breach him, and he sucked in a breath in response and held it.  But the god just stayed there, wiggling the tip of his tongue around but going no farther.  _You've always wondered what this would be like,_ Steve told himself.  _Now is your chance to find out._   He forced the breath out of his body and made himself relax, bit by bit.  He felt the god's tongue sink further into him as he relaxed, until was moving around freely within him, the god's lips around his hole gently sucking, and he had _never_ felt anything like this...

When the god withdrew his tongue and moved away, he let out a whine at the loss.

The god chuckled.  “Fret not, Steve, you shall soon have more of me.  Or rather, you shall soon _take_ more of me...”

He felt a finger at his entrance, moving in and then moving back, sliding easily within him.  It was soon joined by a second, the two of them moving back and forth within him, stretching him out, preparing him.  The stretch was _almost_ painful, but not quite.  And then a third, and he had never felt so full...

The fingers left him and then were scooping up the cooled seed from his stomach.  He looked up and saw the god coating his cock – flushed almost purple – with it.  The god looked up and met his gaze.

“And now, mortal, you shall behold the might of the gods.”

The god knelt between his legs, and Steve felt something warm and hard and _big_ at his entrance.

“Breathe out as I push in Steve, that's it....”

There was an almost unbearable pressure, and then Steve felt something give, and what was before outside of him and trying to gain entrance was now _inside_ of him, slowly moving forward inch by inch, utterly implacable in it's movement, stretching him, touching parts of him he had only been dimly aware of before.  He was sweating by the time the god's balls rested against his ass, a thin, reedy whine spilling from him all the while.

The god rested there for a moment, gathering Steve's legs and propping them up on his own shoulders, freeing Steve's hands to grab onto the furs and hold on for all he was worth.  He felt the god nuzzle his ankle, fingers kneading the back of his calves where they lay against the god's shoulders.

“Relax, yes, that's it, take it....”

Steve took a shuddering breath, forcing his body to relax.  The pain of the stretch gradually subsided but the pressure of the god within him remained, utterly implacable in it's strength and presence.  It was so warm, it almost _burned_ , and Steve blinked in wonderment at the sensation.  _Not every day you can say a god is well and truly in you._   A laugh bubbled up in his chest at the thought, of what Father Thomas would have to say about _this_ kind of connection to the divine.

The god chuckled in response, bestowing one last kiss on his ankle, and then began to slowly move back out of him.  Just as he began to protest the loss the god was pushing back in, on a slightly difference angle.  It..it felt _good_ , riding along the edge of pain, feeling the pressure of the god's cock moving back and forth within him.  Each time the god shifted his angle just slightly, and then...

And then the world exploded, as the god's cock struck something within him that sent a wondrous fire shooting and licking along his nerves.  His hands nearly tore through the furs he was gripping with the strength of it, a high cry of pleasure ripping it's way out of his throat.  The god made a cry in return and stopped shifting his angle, concentrating on that spot within him and gradually picking up speed.  Steve felt himself slide a little on the furs with each thrust, but the god held onto his legs tightly, and Steve held onto the furs tightly, riding each wave of heat and pleasure that built from that point of contact within him.  Waves that he could feel spreading outwards along his body, following the markings that the god had placed upon his skin.  He could feel the markings _moving_ , spreading and multiplying, moving around to his back, to the backs of his arms and legs, pulsing in time with the god's thrusts.

Once again a litany began pouring from his lips, each powerful thrust of the god almost forcing the words from him.

“Trickster.  God.  Warrior.  God.  God.  Of.  Light.  God.  Of.  Wisdom.  God.  Of.  Poetry.  Oathbreaker...bringer.  Of.  The.  Night.  Stars.”

Every thrust he could feel the power behind it, still just barely restrained, and each thrust took his breath away, then gave it back as a gift, to feed the words coming from his lips in strained pants.  He could feel a new pressure building behind his navel.

“Lugos.  Cian.  Gwydion.  Gilfauthwy...”

He was on the cusp, he could feel it, and he forced one final word out as he began to come, this word a shout of ecstasy.

“Lightbringer!!!!!!!”

The god twitched within him, and then there was light, pouring from his skin, bathing the room in an intensity Steve had never seen before in his life.  Even though his eyelids, screwed shut in the ecstasy of his release, the light almost blinded him.  His torso bowed upwards from the altar and the light was moving around him, caressing him, lifting and playing with his hair, moving along his skin, and he had never felt anything like this before....

_And so it is done, mortal.  You are well and truly mine, now.  And you shall have your chance, your chance and the favor of the gods.  Use it well._

The light swelled, and the last thought he had before losing consciousness was the feeling that every fiber of his being was coming apart.

When he woke up, he was back in his own bed, and he could hear Bucky snoring in the bed on the other side of the room.  Daylight was just beginning to peak in through the windows, and Steve had never felt so alive, so....

Bucky's snores abruptly cut off, and he rolled over and opened his eyes.

“Well, well, look who finally made it home.  I was up waiting for you, you know.  Punk.  And don't you just look like the cat who got the cream?  What's her name, huh?”

Steve blinked at him.  “I don't – I wasn't...”

“Aw, come on.  Not gonna tell your buddy?  Fine then, keep your secrets.  But you have to make breakfast on your own.  I've got to report in, but I'll meet you later at the theater, okay?”

Bucky was up, pulling on his clothing and Steve flushed, looking away.  He had a new knowledge now, of just what could happen between men, and he knew Bucky didn't feel that way...

Then Bucky was gone, a force of nature as always.  Normally he pulled all the energy from the room with him when he left, but this time Steve felt energetic still.  _Today is my chance.  My chance to join the army._

He shoved the covers back and stood up, wincing slightly at the faint soreness within, reminding him of what he had done last night, what he had experienced...

_Well, at least I won't die a virgin._

He began to whistle as he got dressed.  Forget breakfast, he had an exam to get to.

* * *

 

“Rogers, Steven.”

Steve got up and got in line, shivering a little in his shorts.  He was surrounded by large men, also in their shorts, and all he could think about was....he forced that thought down.   _Don't pop a stiffie here, they'll think you're a pervert._ He could feel the excitement brewing within him, this was it, his chance....

He got to the front of the line and the doctor began questioning him, asking him about how his parents died, looking over his form with a frown.  Steve was about to burst with excitement and then...

“Sorry, son.”

Steve felt the bottom drop out from under him.  Maybe he had to say it?  ”Look, just give me a chance-”

“You'd be ineligible on your asthma alone.”

“Isn't there anything you can do?”

“I'm doing it.  I'm saving your life.”

The sound of the 4F stamp rang through his good ear, and all of the energy Steve had been brimming with since he woke up drained out of him.  He felt lightheaded.   _Maybe I should have eaten something...._

On his way to the theater, he grabbed a penny dog from the street cart, forcing it down even though he couldn't taste it.   _He lied. T he god lied.  All of that and...I should have known.  Trickster god, indeed._

He bought his ticket at the window and trudged inside, collapsing into his seat as the screen began to flicker.  Oh yes, and now he got to see pictures of the men he would never be allowed to join, fighting the fight he'd never be allowed to participate in, to just add salt to the wound.

And then an asshole in front of him started yelling at the screen, and Steve could hear the woman crying on the other side of the aisle.  He felt a wild carelessness within him.  Maybe he'd been lied to, maybe he wasn't going to get his chance to go over to Europe, but he could do something about this.

“Hey.  Wanna show some respect?”

The newsreel continued, and the man yelled again.  Steve felt his anger growing.  He leaned forward.

“Hey!  Wanna shut up?!”

The man stood and turned around, towering over him, blacking out the screen behind him.  Steve shrank back, but he was in for it now...

The man kept hitting him in the alley, but he kept getting back up, blood dripping down his chin.  He was a man, dammit, and he would fight like one.

“I can do this all day.”

He didn't even see the punch coming, he just woke up lying next to the garbage cans, hearing Bucky's voice as if from far away, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.  And then steps coming back towards him as he picked himself up off the concrete.

“Sometimes,” Bucky said, “I think you like getting punched.”

Steve scoffed.  He looked up and saw Bucky was in uniform, and his heart sank.  And then they were walking up the alley, Bucky's arm around him, heading to the future...

He stood with Bucky and the two girls, looking around at the world fair as Howard Stark's newest invention sputtered and died.  But he was barely paying attention to that, or the girl who had snubbed him.  He could see the enlistment sign in the distance, and hope leapt within his chest.  _One more try.  Just one more._

He moved away, and found his way to the enlistment booth.  Bucky found him there, and they got into a terrific argument.  Bucky wanted him to stay safe at home, in a factory...but Steve couldn't let Bucky go into danger without him.  He didn't want his last sight of Bucky to be the Stark Expo.  He wanted...if Bucky was going to die in Europe, then by God, Steve was going to die with him.  He was all that Steve had left, and he...

_You have the lightbringer's boon_ , a voice within him spoke up.   _The Lightbringer is a lying trickster_ , he told the voice sternly.   _I'll make it on my own._

Bucky walked away, and Steve turned to go in, not noticing the older man watching him with a thoughtful look on his face.

It was after the exam that he spoke to that man, and it was that man who had looked at him as if seeing something others couldn't, who gave him his chance, marking his form 1A.  The sound of the stamp reverberated through him, and Steve felt proud, but also a little ashamed that he had doubted.  He had his chance now...

* * *

_70 years later_

Steve Rogers, 10 inches taller and 145 pounds heaver, had died saving the world in 1945.  Or so he had thought, until he woke up in a fake room in a fake building in a New York he could no longer recognize.  And now they wanted him to save the world again....he had seen the pictures of this Loki, and something had tickled in the back of his mind, but he couldn't place it.  No matter; this Loki had the tesseract, and it was his job, his orders, to subdue the man and bring him and the tesseract back to the helicarrier.  And so he would.

When he punched Loki in the courtyard in Stuttgart, he thought he saw a flash of recognition in the others' eyes, but then the staff was flying towards his face and he could no longer think, only react...

When it was over, when Stark had swooped in and thrown Loki back with a beam of bright light, when the man's helmet and some of his armor had faded in a swirl of golden light, Steve's unease had only increased.  He was missing something, he knew it.  He tried to figure it out as they were flying back with the prisoner, but Stark was there, being infuriatingly irritating, and he let it drop to the back of his mind.  He was sure that if it was important, it would reveal itself in time.

And then there was fighting, and more fighting, more irritation, and he thought Howard Stark's son had, against all expectations, sacrificed himself for the world.  But he came falling back through the portal, and he started breathing again, and then...

They were standing over the bloody and beaten god ( _why_   was that ringing a bell in his head?) who was being sarcastic to the very last, and Thor was pulling a muzzle out and putting it over the god's face, and then the next day they were gathering in Central park, a chained and muzzled Loki with them.  And then Thor was nodding to them all, and twisting the handle of the tube with the tesseract, and then...

_Light.  Bright, blinding light._   Steve stumbled back a pace, connections forming in his head, memories latching on to one another, realization dawning, a face changing to one more youthful and carefree...

_LightBringer._

His mind raced as Thor and Loki disappeared into the sky.   _He gave me this chance...this body...he said I would always bear his mark. The world is safe now, maybe...maybe I can find out what changed the Lightbringer to one who would do this.  Maybe I can change it, change him back..._

Decision firmed; he knew what he had to do.  He said his goodbyes to his new team, and rode his motorcycle down the street, a smile forming.  He had a temple to find...and a god to call.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work now has a sequel! [Icarus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299530)


End file.
